


New Year's Match

by cafeanna



Series: uvopika walks into a bar [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Nen, M/M, Messy Pika 2021, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Uvopika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafeanna/pseuds/cafeanna
Summary: “Annoying the shit out of someone is not how you get them to sleep with you.”Uvo tilts his head down. “Neither is spilling your drink on them when you’re about to lock-lips, sweetcheeks, but I’m still here.”OR, Kurapika and Uvo meet at a bar on New Years. [Complete]
Relationships: Kurapika/Uvogin | Ubogin
Series: uvopika walks into a bar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118696
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	New Year's Match

**Author's Note:**

> I ended 2020 with Uvopika and I shall begin 2021 with it. I have been muttering forever about everything I want to on twt (@cafeannafics, tbh I’m annoying), but for now, I leave you with this hot-take: Kurapika has hot girl energy in the sense that as soon as he’s single, men line up down the block.

There are stages to being drunk.

A charade of steps stinging down his tongue, between loose-limbed grace and the floor, problems rolling off his shoulders and strangers becoming oddly friendly.

Kurapika is balancing between those stages.

Somewhere between reluctantly accepting Hisoka’s invitation to spending New Year’s Eve at a bar and his third, or forth, rum and Coke, he finds a way to amuse himself. Bring together all his compassion and grace to find the humor in the past few weeks. And the world shuddering down around him.

It’s New Years.

Which means new things.

And Kurapika likes new things. It’s a lie, but change is eminent, and even though it is more than a new shirt after loosing a button, or a new address after moving _again,_ Kurapika is plucking himself up and he is ready for them.

(Read: he is not.)

Regardless of how he feels, his ruse is going well. Unspooling on a barstool, hand cupped against his neck, leaning onto his elbow as he listens to Izunavi, his old professor and now bartender, as he runs his finger down the side of his cup.

Coy, almost flirty.

Not that Izunavi seems to notice, he thinks dismally.

Kurapika tunes back in when Izunavi rests his hand on the bar top beside his drink, hand brushing his ever so slightly. He smiles, “I’m glad to see you cutting loose a little, kid.”

Despite himself, Kurapika frowns.

It’s not that he can’t work with _kid_ really, given half the chance, he can work with anything, but it’s the smile that tips him off. The warmth of it that radiates a touch too warm and too knowing and too familiar for a rebound.

“Thanks,” he says, because he has good manners. He was raised well. Then, “It means a lot to me.” Which it does, but Kurapika is not looking for sympathy sex.

Unless, Izunavi is into that. In which case, Kurapika might still be able to wheedle in his old student-teacher fantasy just to check it off his list.

But, Izunavi smiles again, all warm and comforting and too familiar, before his gaze darts away from his, answering the call of a waving hand before nodding. He knocks on the bar top again, eyes cutting to Kurapika with a quick, “But, hey uh, let me know if you need a ride home later.”

Kurapika’s ears perk to attention at that, but before he can answer—or decipher, really Izunavi is just plain hard to read—his old professor is sweeping down to the other end, leaving Kurapika abandoned once again.

Kurapika sighs, grabbing his fresh drink before twisting around on his stool, heels rested against the lower rung to shift from side to side.

He recognizes a few faces in the crowd. None too familiar that he feels compelled enough to say hello, but enough for him to put names to the faces.

Hisoka’s friends are something else.

The roadhouse is still decorated for Christmas time, all twinkling red lights and jolly Santas. The bar had even, most conveniently, left a few boughs of holly hung up to add to the drama of the evening. Hisoka had snatched one of them an hour ago and has yet to resurface. 

After another moment nursing the glass, Kurapika slips off the stool to look for the clown. He had mentioned something about a crow, hadn’t he? Or, maybe someone named Crow? He couldn’t quite remember, but the in the scattered memories of getting ready and pregaming while Hisoka did his eyeliner.

Drunk Hisoka is like a cat. He could find his own way home.

Steadier on his feet than he expected, Kurapika makes his way outside when someone loudly calls for the midnight countdown, moving with the crowd as if they were one being, hand cupped over his drink. He remembers vaguely something about a firework show.

The night air slides like ice against his cheek.

The coy memory of his jacket left in the back of Hisoka’s car leaves him shivering as he sips his drink. The rum would keep him warm anyway.

He hears a crunch in the gravel behind him, more and more people milling out of the bar, laughter and drinks, an electric mix of company. He stands solitary among the huddle, half the bar talking through chattering teeth, others swathe in jackets, and couples wrapped in each other’s arms.

It tugs a little lonely string in him at the sight.

A pain, strained reminder that he is alone this year, not sprawled out in a dorm room with a roommate away for vacation, takeout and movies, hours filled by soft kisses and the bristle of five o’clock shadow—

Kurapika tips his glass against his lips, feeling the bump on an ice cube against his teeth.

The last thing he wants to do is _cry_ on New Year’s.

He is too caught up in his thoughts to notice the huddle clustered behind him, but they are steadily growing too loud to ignore. An argument. Voices low and loping from drinking. Someone’s laughter pitched high as a hyena’s cackle, cracking the frigid air and snaring Kurapika’s attention.

He glances behind him.

Four men. All in jackets, beers in hand, huddled together in a semi-circle.

It looks like a typical three against one, and Kurapika catches the end of a conversation, hiccupped between laughter of the obviously drunker three. “What’s the matter, huh?” One voice asks, then pitches low as if in imitating, “Are you scared Uvogin?”

At once, the huddle seems to sense his stare.

Four heads snap to him and Kurapika turns away, sipping on his drink. Not wanting to get caught up in any situation.

The laughter sparks again as soon as his back is turned, followed by a scuffle of kicking gravel and a low snarl. Kurapika wades through the crowd, tilting his body towards the arch of the deep black sky above the skeleton trees. Icicles and starlit night.

The fireworks should be coming up from beyond there. Set off by someone’s uncle, or cousin. Probably warranting a call from the police department later on in the night, but no one would breathe a word as they whittled the night away.

A slip of icy wind curls through the crowd and Kurapika shudders against the bite of it as the countdown begins.

A new year.

It isn’t the first time he has done this alone and, most likely, it won’t be the last, but it all feels so bittersweet somehow. Starting over again without a piece of himself that once felt so crucial—

His vision is going fuzzy when a hand snares on his shoulder, spinning him around, heels digging into the gravel, before hands clap down, holding him in place. Kurapika has the presence of mind to register a chest, a broad chest. A very broad chest. He cranes his neck to look up and then higher to see the man staring down at him.

Kurapika thinks he might know him.

Another semi-familiar face in the crowd.

One of Hisoka’s friends.

Ubo-something.

One of the taller guys in the group, all broad shoulders and loud laughter. He remembers, sluggishly, Hisoka mentioning him in his rundown of possible rebounds. Catching his eye across the bar as he played pool with his friends, too caught up in the game to offer much attention.

Kurapika had dismissed him at the time, but now so close, he cannot help but wade in the details that caught his interest. The faint scar bisecting his eyebrow, raised and pale. The presence of muscles that feel strangely intimate pressed against him like this.

And he is tall.

Which is not objectively a necessity, but a preference of his.

Kurapika swallows against the press of hands, the migrating warmth of them, palms sliding against his throat to hold his jaw, a touch too tight to be sweet, but insistent. He can feel his throat closing as he swallows, peering up into hazel eyes, lidded.

The slow tip of a smile carving up against that mouth.

The countdown is reaching its last breath. The crackle in the winter air is almost electric, temperature tipping low so that the only warmth against his body is the stranger’s hands, large and callous, gathering him up and pulling him in, tilting his chin, and it’s all moving so fast that Kurapika’s brain is ticking with a one, two, _wait a minute—_

He promptly dumps his drink onto Ubo-whatever’s shoes.

The bastard yowls as if he had been set on fire, careening back as the sky lights up with flame—reds, and oranges, blues, and yellows—all riotous colors etching the icy _fury_ on Kurapika’s face.

Their eyes lock.

The stranger’s jaw works. Annoyed. “What the hell—?”

“The hell? You what the hell! What the fuck was that!?” Kurapika shouts to be heard over the fireworks and screaming. “Are you drunk or something?” That towering figure is staring at him, stunned. Silent. “Fuck off, Ubo.”

“It’s _Uvo_.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He snaps and, caught up in a whiplash of emotion and empty cup, he turns, heading back inside. He kicks up gravel as he goes, stiff shoulders and heavy steps, pushing through the throng of bodies, a few people trying to lure him into the celebration, but a glare steers them off.

Not all of them, however.

Ubo-Uvo is hot on his trail. “Hey, hey Kurapika!” His name rolling from his lips with—goddamnit, the correct accent—and Kurapika turns. His glare doing nothing to temper Uvo’s obvious bemusement.

He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a shout.

“Hey Uvo, happy new year!”

In the corner of his vision, Kurapika spots a trio at the edge of the parking lot, dancing in an elbow locked circle, drunk and cheering. The same guys as before. The ones goading Uvo on. He feels his stomach tighten.

Kurapika schools his expression. “So, did you win any money from your little friends over there?”

Uvo follows his gaze and grins.

“They bet I wouldn’t approach you, yeah.” Uvo speaks as if he’s shifting something, from his hands to his pockets, his chin tilting. Kurapika scoffs. “But nothing about me kissing you. That was a personal choice.”

“Choice.” Kurapika repeats dryly. “Would have liked to have a choice in the matter.”

He leaves Uvo at the door, tossing his plastic cup over his shoulder as he goes. He hopes he hits Uvo with it. The crowd inside is thin now, half of the bar still out enjoying the fireworks, so he is able to cut a quick line towards the bar top.

Unfortunately, Uvo does too.

“You’re pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I’m pissed.”

“Ah, c’mon, you were bitchin’ earlier about not having a new year’s kiss.”

Kurapika raises his voice to be heard over the music. “I don’t remember that.”

“Hisoka said you were looking.” Uvo says blithely and then, Kurapika remembers. Hisoka was planning on making out with someone at midnight, and Kurapika still moping and two shots in, saying he would do the same.

Of course, something as fucked and random had to come from Hisoka. _Fuckin’ hell._ Kurapika sighs and files away _that_ for later.

“And you decided to what? Volunteer?”

“I do believe in charity.” Uvo huffs, under his breath, but it is quickly tempered by Kurapika’s glare as he turns on his heel. “Oh, c’mon, Kurta, I’m sor- _ry._ You can’t blame me for taking a chance to sweep you off your feet, or whatever.” Kurapika doesn’t answer. “What’s so bad about being stuck with my ass for the year?”

Kurapika snarls back, annoyed. “I don’t think it counts if the kiss sucks.”

It’s a juvenile.

But then again, this entire situation is.

Regardless, Uvo seems to take offense. His body shifting into motion again, the squelch of his wet boots dragging against the sticky hardwood. “I am not a bad kisser.” He scoffs, as if he had the right to be offended.

Kurapika shrugs. “Lucky me, I’ll never know.”

He leaves Uvo there, marooned by the empty tables and the half-finished glasses as he makes his way to the bar, claiming an empty seat. He can still feel the nervous energy buzzing down his back, hyperaware of the past few moments, and the tip of his tongue, caught between teeth, irritation bleeding against his spine.

The weird phantom feeling of Uvo’s arms around him, tight and warm.

He cannot believe Uvo tried to kiss him.

Down the bar, he catches Izunavi’s eye, curious and brows tipped, pensive, his mouth moving to words Kurapika cannot quite decipher when he feels someone leaning behind him. Hot against his back. _Fuckin’—_

“Don’t know when to quit?” Kurapika does not ask so much as snarl as he peers over his shoulder, glaring up at Uvo as he signals for the bartender.

“Well, I lost my drink outside and you lost yours on me.” Uvo grins and Kurapika turns away, fingers curling into fists.

He watches a hand come up to brace against the side of the bar top, muscular arm brushing against his, bracketing him in on one side. Despite having just come in from outside, Uvo is warm.

Kurapika prickles. 

“Y’know, there was a study done that says men who feel the need to impose their presence on others have relatively smaller dicks.”

Uvo’s voice is suddenly sober. “Mh, yeah. Dick jokes don’t work on me,” he says and leaning forward so Kurapika can feel his breath on his ear, he whispers, “I know what I got.”

The chill from outside that followed him in seems to thaw on his skin, and deeper in. The fine hair on the back of his neck rising with the low rumble of Uvo’s voice. He keeps thinking of Uvo’s arms around him. He finally got the attention of a bartender—however, not Izunavi, but Kurapika is starting to care less and less, he wants to go _home._ After this drink. “Can I get a whiskey sour?”

Uvo’s voice rising behind him. “Two.”

“You’re not paying for my drink.”

“Who said I’m paying?” Uvo grins as the bartender turns away. Kurapika glares at him again, and Uvo relents. “Fine then, I almost kissed you. I’ll pay for your drink, and then you can hobble on your merry way.”

This time, Kurapika scoffs. “I don’t hobble.”

“You could, if you let me.”

Kurapika can feel heat in his throat, that annoyance baying under confusion. “I honestly can’t tell if you think you’re flirting or not.”

“I am.” Uvo says, all matter-of-fact. “I just don’t see the point in all the useless shit. Hisoka told me you were on the rebound—” Kurapika sucks in a breath. “ _And,_ I happen to like the way you get all snappy.”

It takes Kurapika a moment to process _that_. A heady tidal wave of emotion whipping through him, a hightide of rage, lowtide confusion.

And the strangest part of all of it is, if Uvo had not tried to kiss him, Kurapika might have considered it.

“Annoying the shit out of someone is _not_ how you get them to sleep with you.”

Uvo tilts his head down. “Neither is spilling your drink on them when you’re about to lock-lips, sweetcheeks, but I’m still here.”

Kurapika scoffs. “I was not.”

“Were too. Besides, I don’t like to leave scores unsettled.” Uvo grins. “You think I’m a shitty kisser, well, there’s one way to fix that now isn’t there?”

It’s bait.

He’s baiting him.

Kurapika turns away, fingers curling into fists. “I’ll pass.”

“What’s the matter, Kurta?” He can feel breath, warm and unbidden, the feeling sends a tingle down his spine, working its way into a shiver. Kurapika shifts in his seat to hide it. A smile tilting Uvo’s voice. “Scared you’ll want it?”

Kurapika snorts, loud, unattractive. “As if you could.”

“Mh, could what?”

Kurapika looks over his shoulder. Uvo’s face hovering beside his. It ticks something mean in him. Some old, sharp-fanged, man-eater type that has him lowering his voice to something husky, eyes lid, all bedroom grace as he says, “ _Make me want it_.”

Uvo’s expression is stunned.

Pupils blown wide. Intent.

Its an expression that leaves Kurapika drawing a low breath through his nose. Stomach churning on the inhale. It’s such an obvious _want_ that it leaves him a little strung up in the weight of it, caught up in the game.

He is not flirting with Uvo. He’s not, but something about him just pulls those responses from deep inside him. Sass like a blade on his tongue, every word, every hit, finding the slips in Uvo’s seemingly impenetrable armor.

Not aiming to attract, _but—_

After the last few weeks of one-night stands and hookups, half-hearted interest, thin conversation, and groaning out a reedy evening, it feels almost refreshing to be looked at like that.

Two cups hit the bar top, catching the snare of Uvo’s attention and Kurapika lowers his gaze. _What the fuck am I doing?_ He is suddenly _very_ aware of the people around him.

The seats at the bar top filling up, crowding pushing back in.

The inappropriately intimate air they shared dispels.

Kurapika’s eyes slip back to Uvo’s, and scowls once again. “As if you could,” he repeats, for good measure, and turns back to the bar.

Silence beats between them, a moment too long, music shifting to something of an underscore. Uvo reaches over him to grab his drink, arm brushing against his shoulder.

“So,” Uvo draws, conversationally, “Did you just go through a breakup or something?”

It strikes a pang in him, deep in his chest, twisting up with all those nasty feelings from earlier. A duller ache. He hates talking about it. He hates that so many people just _know._ He hates that he let himself become so shackled to one person that they became apart of his identity.

A sigh of frustration.

“Really?”

“Easy with the claws, sweetheart, I’m just trying to figure you out.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes. “What? Did Hisoka not tell you in his rundown?”

“I dunno, you’re his friend.”

Kurapika scowls. “So? You’re his friend.”

“No one’s Hisoka’s friend.” Uvo settles, and Kurapika grabs his own drink, the heavy taste of bourbon and lemon juice touching his tongue. “Where do you put all that by the way? You’re a tiny thing.”

“I’m five-seven, fuck you.”

Uvo snorts and, surprises him by not going for the obvious joke. His short laughs rumble in his chest before filtering out to a sigh. “Yeah, I’m not really into Hisoka’s rundowns. I’d rather get to know the person.”

It’s so—startlingly genuine that it taps a finger down on the feeling.

The surprise, the confusion.

The curiosity. Loose and languid as a cat.

Kurapika eyes him over his shoulder, gauging for a reaction, some falsehood, but finds none in the curve of Uvo’s smile. “So, what? Is this your way of trying to get to know me?” Kurapika asks, a touch—a lot—nicer than before. Curious still.

If Uvo notices he doesn’t let on. He looks more touched that Kurapika asked.

“You can tell a lot about a person from a fight.”

“Yeah? And what have you learned?”

Uvo bobs his head a few times, as if following the beat of the music, eyes falling closed and then he nods, once. “You’re pretty guarded on most fronts, but that’s normal, for most people, you don’t know me too well. But it’s how you guard that’s interesting. You don’t really deflect, but you kind of just—” Uvo extends his hand to demonstrate, “grab people and drag them in. It feels distant, but it’s pretty close to the chest. Like you mean it every time. No half-hearted shit.”

Kurapika blinks. “Alright.” And Uvo continues. 

“And you’re smart, I know that from your little comebacks. It’s kinda of bratty, actually—”

“That throw you off?” Kurapika prompts, teasing.

“—no, that put me on.”

Lemon juice burns his windpipe.

This entire time, Kurapika thought Uvo had been flirting with him and he had really been sizing him up, seeing what buttons to press, what strings to pull. He can feel the nervous, bubbling energy of moving too fast, the whipping vertigo of a corner turn before sliding home to a stop.

Kurapika looks at him, rubbing his throat. “Why are you so hellbent on me?”

Uvo’s brows lift. “You serious?”

“I want to know. Honestly, why are you spending your time hounding me?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Uvo eases his shoulders. “You want honesty, I’ll give you human nature.” Uvo gestures between them, finger curling. “I’ve had my eye on you. I think you’re funny, you’ve got a mean mouth, and you’re hot as hell. And, you’ve had your eye on me, so you must think I’m not too bad either.” Uvo shrugs, looking for, the slightest moment, almost nervous, but it smooths over with a smile. A less wide version from before. “It doesn’t have to be so complicated.”

Their eyes lock.

It’s like the moment from before, but not. Less anger, less lights. Something peaceful settling between them that is still far too thin for friendship, or even acquaintance, but snagging something on the way down.

Want.

Heat like before seeping into him like the warmth against his side.

Uvo eyes him for a moment longer, then sets his drink on the bar top. Unfinished.

“Listen,” Uvo says, voice tipping low in his ear, all rolling. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom, and I’m gonna chill in there for, let’s say, five minutes. And if you don’t join me, I will take the hint and go back to my friends and we can pretend this never happened.” Uvo leans back a bit, stopping just to meet his eyes, feel his breath. “But if you do join me . . . I’ll make it worth your while.”

That simmering heat seems to overflow.

He can feel the burn of it under his skin, hot against his cheeks and pulling down and sinking low in his stomach. His hand feels numb against the ice in his cup.

Hazel eyes giving him a final once-over before pulling back.

Kurapika watches him as he goes, wide shoulders and intimidating height as he cuts through the crowd, heading to the back of the bar beyond the neon hung signs. Just as he said.

A full minute passes before Kurapika can even think.

Two before he can even process what Uvo said.

 _The fuck, the fuck, the fuck is that?_ He presses a cool hand to his cheek. Embarrassment comes next because _who the fuck says that_ and _fuckin’ hell._ Kurapika eyes the patrons on either side of him a moment, both either too caught up in their own worlds to notice, or too polite to make their notice known.

It feels obvious, though he can feel the cool thrill of tension twisting up his neck. That nervous tick.

He has been feeling better since the breakup. Leagues better. Just residual burns, but nothing that won’t scab and fade over time. For now, he wants to put himself out there again, still a bit tender, seeking nothing too serious. And that’s what no one seems to get. 

He likes nothing serious, but all his flings, an unnamed collection counted between his thumb and littlest finger, have been ultimately unfulfilling and a waste of his time.

Nothing against him, but nothing for him either.

Three minutes.

Uvo’s offer curls in the back of his mind, softer at the edges. His coy _I’ll make it worth your while_ drifting like a promise not yet fulfilled, a declaration that pulls at the corner of curiosity and want. The delicate grapple of emotions that makes him feel unsteady on his feet, almost out of body, as he slips off his stool.

The Christmas lights riot around him, tiny stars, and tinsel garlands. The music is rattling against the hung photo frames and deer antlers. The barroom shaking with the force of feet. And god, there is no way he’s not going to get caught—

His hand curls on the doorknob of the bathroom, but does not turn. He thinks of the faces he passed, the benign smiles and toasts, all the people caught up in their own little worlds, too busy for him. And then, the person waiting for him behind the door.

The doorhandle turns a half-inch before slipping against the cache.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I drop Uvopika in a roadhouse bar? Yes. And what of it? Uvogin was my first love out of all the Spiders. Really. I saw a big man and my brain went no thoughts, only climb. But we’re not here to unpack all that.
> 
> Uvopika will have sex in a proper bed, in the next installment. I have a duology. Should be up now.
> 
> Also, I used to bartend and if any of you act out this way, I can guarantee everyone on staff knows. Happy Thursday! 
> 
> -cafeanna


End file.
